


The Qalupalik

by Deathly_Gibson



Category: Supernatural, The SFGB's!
Genre: Alaska, Canon Compliant, Canon Disabled Character, Crossover, Folklore, Gen, Inuit folklore, Stealth Crossover, The SFGB's are hunters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:22:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24783802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deathly_Gibson/pseuds/Deathly_Gibson
Summary: The SFGB's are hunters in Alaska, the Winchesters meet them and hunt the Qalupalik together.
Relationships: Gibson/Evelyn(The SFGB's!), John/Milo(The SFGB's!





	1. Jerk, Bitch.

Sam curled over, one hand on his stomach, the other bracing himself on the Impala as he hurled some extra green and brown across the Alaskan landscape. Dean patted his back in a brotherly manner as his eyes narrowed on the vomit.  
“That’s why you don’t eat avocado toast, Sammy,” Dean said in a know-it-all tone, his pale brother looking up at him in annoyance before bending back down and heaving.  
“I tried to warn ya, Sammy, you never trust anything that green-” he went on, but was cut off by the roar of a 1959 thunderbird shoot past on the highway, distant rock music meeting their ears. Dean whistled.  
“Now why can’t you get a car like that Sammy!” Dean protested as Sam swayed on the curb before wiping his mouth and supporting himself back into the car. Dean slid into the driver's seat, and soon they were pulling out back onto the main road.  
“Better hold in the rest of that avocado Sammy,” Dean said, checking his rearview mirror as he pushed in a battered up cassette tape, “we're about to make up for lost time.”  
Flattening the gas, they burst into the highway at full speed, Dean getting an ‘I am so done with you’ face from Sammy as Welcome to the Jungle pounded in their ears when they sped down the freeway.  
Sammy grasped the window as he turned a timid shade of green, Dean honking at the Thunderbird as they left it in the dust, and continued to careen past the blur of spruce trees.  
“Sometimes I truly hate you,” Sammy muttered as Dean turned so sharply the car almost flipped. “Jerk”  
“I love you too, Bitch.” Dean replied, tossing their tourist map into his brother's lap, “Now find a place to stay in this shit hole that doesn't involve another log cabin.”  
Sammy smirked as he looked down at a crappy motel, whose name was almost hidden in the crease. ‘The Crust Melon Motel’  
“Continue for a couple more miles then turn left on the dirt road,” Sammy said, throwing a smirk.  
“That quick, eh? Is it nice?”  
“Oh, yeah.”  
“Awesome.”


	2. Baby, the Thunderbird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The SFGB's are in Gibson's car

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't an author insert. I just have the same name as him.

A baby blue 1959 thunderbird, fittingly named Baby, rolled down the Richardson with Back in Black by AC-DC playing over the radio as softly as one could play AC-DC, which according to Gibson, was the max volume. Gibson sat in the driver’s seat, a pillow jammed over the center console so Evelyn, his now-fiancee, could lay across the seat and onto his lap. A black blur zoomed past them, sending them a friendly honk which would have awoken any normal person, but of course not Evelyn, who would have slept peacefully in a hurricane of sharks. John and Rebecca sat in the back seat playing blackjack, both equally terrible at the game, so no one was really losing or gaining anything. After a few rounds, John scooped up the cards on the cooler they were using as a table and reached in to grab a sandwich. Gibson, checking his rear-view mirror and seeing this said,  
“If I see a single crumb in my Baby, you’re dead to me.”   
“Yessir,” John replied, sighing as he saw the rain clouds trailing behind them had grown ominously darkener. As though on cue, a soft fall of raindrops began pattering down on the car.  
While Gibson had mastered the art of both steering and turning on the wipers with his left hand (while usually wrestling a foul creature next to him), his right hand this time flailed aimlessly for the map in the opposite car door, the man grimacing as his fingers precariously slipped as he stretched even farther right, sending baby into a sharp swerve that would have made any person scream if the gamers hadn’t experienced hundreds of car chases prior.  
“Eve, you awake?” he muttered as he lunged for the map, hand falling only inches short. The person below him answered with a content sigh.   
“Fine,” he said, portraying several strange acrobatic moves that would make even Olympians nod their heads in approval before finally snatching a different one from the glove compartment and holding it over his head with one hand triumphantly as the lyrics   
“Well, I'm back, yes I'm back  
Well, I'm back, yes I'm back  
Well, I'm back, back  
Well I'm back in black  
Yes, I'm back in black” roared in the background.   
“Find a motel,” he said, still breathing hard as he flipped the map into the backseat while the two continued to bicker over a second 5 of clubs in the deck that John swore he had seen their last hunted monster (The Yeti) slide in before they sent him careening down the south mount of Everest.  
They pulled in next to a fine, black 1967 Chevrolet Impala thirty minutes later, Gibson admiring it from afar as he hitched his bag over his shoulder. Tearing his eyes off the Impala, he looked up at the bright neon lights above him, which several of the letters had stopped glowing in, ‘The Crust Melon Motel’.


	3. Dammit Sammy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuck you Sammy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! We had severe writer's block lol

“You sure that this is the ‘nice motel’ you were talking about?” Dean questioned as he pulled into an empty lot, the inn’s neon lights flickering through the light rain.   
“Definitely,” The other man said as he donned a shit-eating grin.  
“Alright…” The shorter one responded, untrusting, reaching over to grab some fake IDs and credit cards from the glove box. Looking down at the IDs he read  
“Hamish Sunshine and Rax Smyth”   
“Alright,” Sammy replied before catching the ID that read Rax Smyth that Dean had tossed at him.

The second the brothers stepped out of the car, they got smacked in the face with a prominent smell of rotting fish. The longer-haired brother gagged, still nauseous from the winding roads. The boys walked over to the small cracked glass door, Dean opening it with a creak, and walked in. Sam let out a little ‘fuck’ as he hit his head on the doorway.  
“Well, ain't this lovely, Sammy.” The brother with the nice car stated as he smacked the very nauseous Sam on the back of the head and headed towards the mildewy front desk. Not seeing anyone, he tapped the bell.   
“Oi! I’ms right heres!” an almost painful voice erupted from behind the lichen-blanketed desk. Dean leaned over the counter to see a small man with thick eyebrows and a greenish hue to his skin, staring at him with beady eyes. Sammy shot Dean a wary glance before following his brother and leaning over the desk.  
“I’m too tired for this,” Sam said plainly before walking across the moist carpet to a singular stained, opaque couché-colored couch with a rotten durian odor and plopped himself down. He took his phone from his pocket to check his emails as he listened in on Deans’ conversation with the goblin-man.   
“Soooo...how much is a room?”  
The tiny person grunted and slid a soggy clipboard across the lichen-desk.  
‘A room wit one bed is 230$ a night plus 50$ per extra bed. An extra hundred if you expect us to clean it.’ After reading it, Dean let out a sigh and slid the clipboard back with the credit card and ID on top.  
“We’ll take two beds.”  
“Cleaned, please.” Sam cut in from the back of the room after shooting Dean a distressed look.  
“Fine. Give us a few hours.” The Goblin man said, clearly annoyed.   
“Okay,” Dean said as if he were speaking to a rather obnoxious child before joining his brother on the couch.


	4. Goddamn Low Alaskan Ceilings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ew.

The Gamers walked in the door, Gibson with Evelyn in his arms. They mumbled to each other as they entered the mildewy lobby of The Crust Melon Motel, which was almost empty besides two men occupying the worn-out couch in the corner, and a crumbling front desk with a crooked painting of a rainbow eyed fish mantled over it. The taller man (though he still wasn’t taller than Gibson) cursed as he flicked several ants from his blond hair, the bugs seeming to be generating from a small hole above him, which several other types of insects were streaming in and out in organized lines.  
“Well isn’t this homey,” John muttered as he studied the strange stains splattered across the gray carpet, his attempts to avoid them failing as he stepped down on something yellow that replied with a subtle ‘Squish.’ He swallowed, raised his eyes, and continued to follow Gibson and the others, spare Rebecca who was checking them into their rooms, to the couch corner with several more ‘Squishes’ along the way. Gibson banged his head repeatedly on the uneven ceiling before he finally bent over, it dipped down in weird places, and several gaping cracks dripped a foul-smelling liquid down the walls.  
“Oh, please,” The shorter of the two men said, abruptly standing and motioning for Gibson to sit.  
“Come on, Sammy,” he said, when the younger man stood, smiling awkwardly at the others as Gibson took off his coat and wrapped Evelyn in it before laying her down and taking the weird-smelling seat next to her.  
“Dean,” the other man said, extending a hand to Gibson, who took it as he pegged the man in front of him as a hunter. But he wasn't entirely sure.   
“I’m Gibson, like the guitar, The corpse over there is my fiancée, Evelyn.” He said with a chuckle before shooting a look towards John and Rebecca, who had finished checking them in and had made her way over to the rest of her group.   
“John,” The long-haired man said, reaching across a piss colored coffee table to shake the new friends’ hands.  
“Rebecca.” The brunette mumbled as she waved tiredly  
“Good to meet you four, I’m Dean’s brother, Sam,” Said the man who’s height almost rivals Gibsons’  
A small man who closely resembled a goblin seemed to appear out of nowhere with a cart of metal folding chairs in tow, offering them to the group with a grunt. Dean happily accepted, grabbing one for his brother and one for himself. John and Rebecca looked at each other and made a run for the only blue chair. Rebecca got to it first, and when John tried to take it from her, he received a punch in the shoulder. John settled for the red chair. Dean let out a snicker, and Gibson, with his fingers on the bridge of his nose, said  
“Jesus fuck, you guys are such children.”  
The room fell silent while everyone got situated, spare for the sounds the goblin-man made while he was walking away and into a literal hole in the wall.  
“By any chance, is that your Impala out there?” Gibson asked the brothers, breaking the silence.   
Dean, getting defensive, sat up a little straighter and replied, “It's mine; you didn’t hurt my Baby, did you?”  
“Oh nonono, I drive the Thunderbird you passed on the highway, just wanted to say it's a beautiful car!” the taller man assured. Soon they were having an in-depth discussion of the different options of proper car maintenance while swatting away beetles that began creeping toward their shoes.  
The sky darkened outside, and after several attempts to fend off the goblin man with his bright green liquor bottle as the automobile conversation continued, the person(?) somehow managed to get all of them to be holding a cup full of slimy liquid before speeding off into another hole.  
“I don’t trust it,” John said plainly, examining the bubbling liquid in his hand with distress.  
“Maybe it’s poison!” Rebecca whispered curiously, sniffing at her glass before immediately reeling back and gagging.   
Gibson set his down on the table and took Evelyn’s from its place, precariously balanced on her forehead, only for his eyes to widen as something began to resurface in the glass.  
His room key.   
“Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me,” Dean said, practically throwing his glass on the table as his room key ascended as well, the others looking like they were going to vomit as their rusty keys followed Dean’s lead.   
“Hell no,” Sammy said, wrinkling his nose as Dean gave him a pleading to retrieve their key from the concoction.  
“Well, it’s now or never,” John said, the others looking at him blankly as he smiled down at his cup, before draining it completely. Rebecca gasped, shooting up from her seat before racing over to John and began to pound on his back with clenched fists.   
“Out, out, out, out, out, out, out!” the brunette chanted as she whacked the poor man choking below her. Dean looked entertained, Sammy was horrified, Gibson looked at John as though almost impressed, Rebecca was desperate, and Evelyn shifted comfortably in her slumber. A black blur shot out of John’s mouth and whizzed straight at Sam’s forehead before ricocheting off him and landing perfectly in Gibson’s glass with a blonk.   
“You know what, this has been a pleasure, but I’m done with this place,” Dean said, standing up as he wiped his dirty hands off on his jeans. He looked at Gibson with a twinkle in his eye.  
“Let’s go get a real drink.”


End file.
